


Night #183

by eggshellseas



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-consensual everything, Stockholm Syndrome, Unconscious Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggshellseas/pseuds/eggshellseas
Summary: Their outings are still a new development, and Charley is still figuring out how to navigate them.





	Night #183

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Time of Death: February 21st, 2013, 4:49 am](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710825) by [maggiemarge (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/maggiemarge). 



“I won’t,” Charley insists, despite being halfway out of the car already.

“Not up for debate,” Jerry tells him.

It occurs to Charley that it might be funny if he started screaming, “This man is not my father,” exactly like some police officer had told his second grade class to do if they were ever being abducted, but the punishment after the last time he’d caused a scene is still too fresh in his mind.

Losing patience, Jerry gives one real yank that drags Charley to his knees on the pavement. He scrabbles to sit back against the car, scanning nervously for any witnesses. It doesn’t matter if Jerry’s the one attracting attention; it will still be Charley’s fault for being uncooperative. Luckily, besides a rat skittering behind a nearby dumpster, the alley where Jerry had parked is deserted.

Jerry crouches down in front of him. There’s a rip in Charley's pants from the fall that frames a skinned knee. He curls a hand around Charley’s calf and pulls his leg up off the ground so he can lick at the scrape. There’s only a little bit of blood for him to taste, and then his lips purse there like Charley’s mom used to kiss his boo-boos better, a flash of tenderness that makes Charley’s chest seize and threatens to send him spiraling into an anxiety attack.

It must be obvious, because Jerry immediately hauls him to his feet and then pins him against the side door with a hand on his throat. “Listen, baby boy,” he says, “you misbehave and it’ll be _years_ before you go outside again. Got it?” He grinds the heel of his palm into Charley’s Adam’s apple until Charley nods. “Good,” he growls, and then grabs Charley’s arm to lead him forcefully out of the alley. The thrum of street noise gets louder, and then they’re on a busy block of bars and clubs.

It’s crazy how whiplash fast Jerry can go from scary to appropriate-for-public. There’s a blankness that falls over his face, and his grip shifts - still firm, but he’s holding Charley’s hand now instead of nearly wrenching his shoulder out of its socket. Charley wants to hate it, but all the open space and people are overwhelming, and it’s almost comforting in that moment to know Jerry isn't going to let go of him.

Their outings are still a new development, and Charley is still figuring out how to navigate them. He doesn’t want to mess up his best shot at escape, but he’s also not sure how he’ll recognize the exact right moment. He doesn't doubt that Jerry would lock him up permanently if he tries to run and fails, and Charley just can’t go back to that.

He’s always been a little anxious and socially awkward, but now, after so much isolation, it feels terrifying and impossible to even try to interact with strangers. He gets a weird jolt whenever he accidentally makes eye contact with someone. Every disinterested gaze that flickers over him and then away is a reminder that no one is looking for him - Jerry made sure of that.

Jerry though, he gets lingering stares. It never fails to make Charley even more self-conscious, wondering what they look like together. Charley knows he’s gotten pale and waifish, and that there are shadows under his eyes no matter how much he sleeps, while Jerry is - well Jerry is also pale, but he’s very noticeably older and they don’t particularly look related. If it comes up, Jerry gets a kick out of being Charley’s dad, or creepy uncle, or overbearing boyfriend. Charley just has to pay attention and follow his lead because Jerry gets irritated if he’s a spoilsport.

It’s clearly the boyfriend tonight, what with Jerry’s fingers still laced through his. The first time he’d played that game they were at a Starbucks, and in addition to Jerry holding his hand too tightly and speaking for him, Charley had also been covered in bruises, and a woman - a social worker, had managed to slip Charley her card on his way to the bathroom and tell him he could get help if someone was hurting him. Unfortunately for both of them, Jerry was too keen-eyed not to notice the exchange. He’d knocked her out and taken her home with them and then fucked Charley in front of her, deep and drawn out, to show her he treated Charley fine, thanks very much. And then, only after all that, did he drag her to floor and drain her practically on top of Charley while Charley cried and whispered he was sorry. 

Jerry’s actually been pretty careful since then to keep his marks where they can be easily hidden, except for his neck - he can’t leave that alone. Charley now has some heavy duty concealer Jerry makes him use to cover the worst of it. 

Remembering that woman reminds Charley what Jerry is after this time, and he freezes as he’s hit with a wave of nausea. Jerry turns and pushes him back towards a wall, jostling Charley into an embrace. He tilts his head down like they’re kissing, like they’re just a couple indulging in some PDA. “And here I was trying to do something nice for you, taking you out like this, but maybe you’re not ready,” Jerry says softly, his eyes narrowed. “We can go home right now and try again in, I don’t know, six months.”

Charley tenses. Part of him wants exactly that, to be back in his basement where he doesn’t have to hate himself for every moment he’s not trying to escape, where Jerry can’t make him his hunting partner, but it’d taken so long to earn this privilege, so he reluctantly shakes his head and whispers, “No. Please.” Jerry smirks and does kiss him then, a quick swipe of his tongue and a sharp nip of teeth, before moving on, his hand on the back of Charley’s neck now.

Their destination turns out to be a club called The City. The doorman looks at Charley doubtfully, but Jerry just slips him some cash and they’re waved in. Something Charley has learned from their little excursions is that no matter how many weird looks they get, almost no one is ever willing to come out and ask about his age or their relationship. Of course, after what happened with the social worker that’s probably good, but still kind of sad. To be fair though, Charley probably wouldn’t either in their place, worried about being rude or creating conflict.

He’s surprised when Jerry heads straight to the bar and orders them both a drink. Jerry never lets him drink, says it messes with his natural flavor. Charley downs his Long Island iced tea maybe a little too fast, and it’s immediately replaced with a fresh one. Besides not being used to alcohol, Jerry also doesn’t always remember to bring Charley food, and it quickly goes to his head.

Jerry pulls him back against his chest with an arm around his waist. He leans in to press his cheek to Charley’s temple as he scans the crowd of mostly men. “Okay, Charley,” he says, only just audible, “who’s it going to be?”

This is the new game Jerry’s trying out, making Charley choose his victim. Charley shies away, but, as usual, Jerry is all over him, holding on too tightly for him to go anywhere. “I can’t just pick someone,” he protests.

“Alright,” Jerry chuckles, “take your time, give it some serious thought.”

“I can’t pick _anybody_ ,” Charley revises.

“Again, not up for debate.”

Charley’s not steady enough to resist when Jerry nudges him forward to the dance floor, even if his mind is balking at the idea. Charley hates dancing, has ever since he embarrassed himself at his cousin's wedding, but maybe it will give him a chance to stall until Jerry just gets too hungry or it gets too close to sunrise. Also, this isn’t really dancing, Jerry just keeps an arm around him and grinds against his ass with an even roll of his hips. Charley puts up with it as long as he can, but then he feels Jerry getting hard, and that’s too much indignity. “I need some water,” he shouts over the music. Jerry tips his head in permission, and then hooks two fingers through the belt loop at the back of Charley’s jeans and shadows him back to the bar.

The place has gotten busier and Charley’s still trying to flag down one of the bartenders when they’re suddenly approached by a tall blond man. “Jer!” the guy calls. Jerry turns toward the guy, an arm slung around Charley’s waist, somehow simultaneously possessive and casual.

“Good to see you, man,” he says to Jerry, and then, “You must be Charley.” Charley looks up at Jerry, bug-eyed, trying to get some read on what he should do. Jerry’s got a friendly smile on his face, none of the little tics that mean he’s actually annoyed or angry, so Charley nods. “Dev,” the guy introduces himself, and Charley shakes his hand very briefly.

Charley has so many questions, the first of which is whether Dev is another vampire, but since he can’t exactly come right out and ask that he goes with, “You know Jerry?”

“Just from here. We’re both regulars.” Charley must look confused, because Dev follows that up with, “Oh shit, hope I’m not getting you in trouble,” and then he gives Jerry a playful nudge with his elbow. Charley winces inwardly. He’s seen Jerry kill people for less, but Jerry still has that nice guy face on. “You guys chill and let me get this round. What are you drinking?” Dev enthuses. Charley tries to ask for water, but Jerry talks over him to ask for a whiskey, neat for himself and a vodka-cran for Charley.

Jerry pulls Charley away from the bar and posts up at a nearby column. They’ve still got a clear view of Dev, who’s started chatting with a petite man with dark hair. They’re too far to hear, but body language is enough to tell Charley that Dev is offering to buy the guy a drink. 

“Watch his right hand,” Jerry whispers, his mouth right at Charley’s ear, making him shiver. There are now four glasses in front of Dev. Charley squints, not sure what he’s supposed to see. But then, and it’s only because Jerry’s told him where to look that Charley catches it, Dev slips something into one of the drinks. “Dev prefers his fucks unconscious,” Jerry tells him, something like malicious glee in his voice. “You wanna be a good samaritan?”

Charley glances up him uncertainly. Jerry idly slips a hand beneath Charley’s shirt to stroke his stomach. “You go convince him he wants to party with us and you can save that guy from a really unpleasant morning, and probably a case of gonorrhea.”

“Party with us?” Charley echoes.

“Your little twink-bait ass is just his type,” Jerry smirks.

“Why?” Charley is honestly so confused. Jerry is almost rabidly possessive, and now he’s telling him to go flirt with some rapist?

“I’m disappointed, kid, you think that poor guy deserves to get raped?” Charley flinches at the word, and Jerry laughs at him. “I’m trying to make your decision easier. You should thank me,” Jerry says, and then, after a beat adds, “Say ‘thank you’, Charley.”

“Thank you,” Charley whispers hollowly.

“You’re welcome. Now-” Jerry pulls his hair to tug his head back so Charley can sort of see him out of the corner of his eye. “You let him touch you and the longer it takes for him to die and the longer you have to watch,” Jerry says. Charley nods shakily. He knows Jerry means it; Jerry will tape his eyelids open if he has to. Then Jerry slaps his ass and says, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

He walks back over to the bar, and, awkward a fuck, stands there until Dev finally acknowledges him. “We were wondering where you went,” Charley says, and then wants to punch himself for how stupid it sounds.

Dev looks at him appraisingly. “Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart. Here, you can take this back with you,” he says, handing Charley Jerry’s drink. 

Charley stares down at it for a few seconds, and then tries again - “Jerry wants you to come hang out.”

“Just Jerry?” Dev asks in a lilting tone.

“Me too,” Charley says, shrugging helplessly.

Dev gives Charley the drink he ordered the other guy, who, during their exchange, has already turned his attention elsewhere. The one that he’d roofied. “Oh, I had the vodka cranberry.” Charley tries to sound casual, but his voice cracks a little.

“It’s a whiskey sour - you’ll like it,” Dev says firmly. He links his arm through Charley’s, and there’s no way Charley can extricate himself without spilling the drinks, and even if he's getting closer to being okay with Jerry eating this guy, that still doesn't mean Charley wants to have to watch him tortured.

Jerry glances at the hand tucked into the crook of Charley’s elbow, but he doesn’t seem mad. If anything, he seems pleased to have set Charley up to fail. There’s a sardonic edge to his grin as he taps their glasses together before knocking back the whiskey. Charley’s hoping he can just hold onto his cup for a while and then find an opportunity to dump it out, but Jerry looks him directly in the eyes and says, “Drink it, Charley,” with a sadistic smile.

“Thanks, I’m just - not thirsty right now.”

He gets a hand on his lower back and Jerry sidling closer. “You don’t want to insult Dev here, do you?” he asks. 

“Uh, no,” Charley answers uncertainly. His gaze flicks from Dev’s amused face back to Jerry.

“Drink it.” Jerry says with a tone that brooks no argument. He’s toying with the waistband of Charley’s pants now. Dev looks way less uncomfortable with the whole situation than he probably should. Maybe he is in on this. Jerry leans in and presses his mouth to Charley’s jaw and then his ear. “If you don’t drink that I will break your legs again, I fucking swear, Charley,” Jerry growls, too low for Dev - if he is indeed human - to hear.

Charley gives up and takes a sip, and then drains the entire thing when Jerry raises his eyebrows expectantly. Then Jerry’s suddenly all easy-going smiles again. Dev hasn’t batted an eye, and Charley guesses he shouldn’t be surprised considering he’s the one with the drugs, but it’s another harsh reminder that Jerry can get away with treating him however he wants. Charley can feel his heart in his throat, making himself over-anxious about when and how he’s going to feel the effects. It’s not helped when Jerry suddenly announces, “I gotta piss. Keep an eye on him,” to Dev, which is ridiculous, because Jerry doesn’t pee, but he walks away before Charley can react, and Dev is suddenly standing way too close.

“Let’s get to know each other a little better,” Dev says, cheesy as hell. His hand is back on Charley’s arm sliding up to his shoulder and then cupping his cheek.

“Jerry,” Charley protests, not incredibly eloquent, but exactly the point he wants to make.

“I see him here with other guys, you know. I’ve seen him _leave_ with other guys,” Dev says.

“That’s not - we’re not-” Charley’s having trouble getting his mouth to work right. He tries to look for Jerry, but his vision has started to blur.

“Exclusive? Yeah, he said you were quite the little slut.” 

The words barely reach Charley through his sleepy haze. There’s an arm around his shoulders and he goes where he’s nudged, stumbling a little. “You look like you need some air,” Dev says as he shoves Charley out a side door. Charley catches himself on a wall, and then there's an unfamiliar weight plastered along his back and strange hands all over him. Charley bats at them ineffectively with just the fuzzy thought that it’s _not allowed_. He gets a too-tight grope between his thighs in response, and Charley wants to scream because this is the closest he's been to another person since that dying social worker, but he's just so tired.

He hears the door open again, and Dev retreats a fraction, holding onto his hips lightly. Charley knows it's Jerry even before Dev says, “There you are, dude. I almost had to get started without you - he’s so hot for it.”

Charley gurgles something unintelligible, trying to express his outrage, as he’s pulled to lean on Jerry instead of the building. He feels like he's sinking, like his whole body knows he doesn't have to fight anymore because Jerry wouldn't let Dev rape him. Jerry's a monster, but he doesn't share.

“You alright there, Charley?” Jerry murmurs without an ounce of concern as Charley lets his head loll against Jerry’s neck. “Ready to go, huh?” He does something in the vicinity of a nod, and then groans in protest when Jerry pulls his hair to tilt his face up. “Well you know there's something you have to do before that can happen.”

His eyes tear up with frustration and the effort of staying conscious. All he can manage is a mumbled “yes”, and “wanna go, please,” but apparently it's enough because Jerry says, “Let’s take this party somewhere more private.”

-

Jerry waits until they're almost back to the car before he smashes Dev’s head into a wall to save himself the trouble of carrying him. It's messier than the Ambien of course, but just as effective, and it's not like he cares if he causes his dinner any brain damage. 

Charley is asleep on his feet, which is a little creepy if Jerry’s going to be honest, but convenient that it's pretty easy to walk him to the alley where they’d parked. He shoves Dev in the trunk, sneering at the thought of this asshole putting his slimy hands on what belonged to Jerry. Charley he pushes into the front seat.

Once they're on their way, Charley starts listing to the side, and Jerry grabs the back of his neck and eases him down. He puts his hand on Charley's cheek to keep him still as he rocks his hips up slightly, just a little tease for himself, already semi-hard at the anticipation of blood and fucking.

Jerry had been scouting this guy for a few weeks, looking for someone Charley would be willing to sentence to death. He wanted to give him a little taste of the power he could have if he'd just stop being such a little baby about everything.

He carries Charley inside first, laying him out on his mattress, before going back for Dev, who’s slightly conscious, but too groggy to do anything as Jerry tosses him into one of his little holding rooms. He's going to enjoy ripping him apart later, and maybe Dev will think it's divine retribution for his crimes, but the only one Jerry cares about is the arrogance of Dev thinking he was a hunter and not just a pathetic creep, thinking that Jerry had actually wanted to see him put his filthy fucking cock in _his_ boy.

Charley fusses and murmurs nonsensically as Jerry strips him, but then he goes all lax and pliant. Jerry nuzzles Charley’s armpit, then moves down to lick his little tangle of pubic hair, indulging himself in all the spots where the smell of Charley's skin and sweat are strongest. Skinny thighs are pushed farther apart so Jerry can move down to his balls. He lets his fangs start to come out and imagines how horrified Charley would be if he was fully conscious - just the barest pressure on that velvet-soft sensitive flesh. He rolls Charley onto his stomach and spreads his cheeks to lick briefly at his furled little hole, and then he shucks his own clothes, coats his cock with the barest amount of lube, and, using his fingers to pave way, works himself into Charley's ass.

Previous experience has taught Jerry to make sure Charley’s face isn’t buried in a pillow, and with his head to the side, Jerry can watch Charley’s eyes flutter open as he’s penetrated. They remain glazed and unseeing, and Jerry’s dick twitches with how turned on he is, because of all the times he’s fucked the boy, Charley’s never been this defenseless. His lips part on a sigh, but other than that there's no response to Jerry fucking him open. There’s no clenching resistance, no denying Jerry’s absolute claim. Jerry stays still for a moment right where he's deep as he can get, and relishes how Charley's always so hot inside that it’s like getting burned, before he starts thrusting sharply. He’s not going to draw it out, not when he’s this hungry and horny, and Charley’s not even awake to appreciate it.

Jerry slips his thumb into Charley’s yawning mouth, pulling it back to smear spit over Charley’s lips before dipping back in to gather more saliva, stroking his mouth soft and giving. Charley's his perfect little fuck doll right now, his living, breathing, blood-filled fleshlight. Maybe it’s worth looking into what else might make Charley a better-behaved puppy, he thinks - all these pills they have nowadays. 

He’s stuck for a moment on whether he’d rather have Charley wake up to cum dripping out of his ass or drying on his face. The thought draws his balls tight, and it's decided for him that he's going to cream Charley's sweet little ass. He puts his hand on Charley’s lower back, digs his fingers into the pale skin as he rides the pleasure out. He grabs the base of his cock with his other hand, stroking up as he pulls back to make sure he’s given Charley every drop of his load.

He wonders if he could make Charley believe that Dev _had_ fucked him after all, and that Charley needed to be punished appropriately for that transgression. Not that it actually matters, he supposes; Charley will take what he's given either way, maybe the belt later, or bent over daddy’s knee for a bare-handed spanking. Not to mention that he still owes Charley a front row seat for their guest’s demise; he’d hate to break a promise. And by then he’ll be more than ready to fuck Charley again. All in all, Jerry is having an absolutely awesome night, and it’s not over yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments greatly appreciated. Please give love to the [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/716946) that inspired this as well.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://eggshellseas.tumblr.com).


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